


safety (in your arms)

by CC_Writes_Stuff



Series: Make It Hurt: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Memories, Mild Hurt/Comfort, On the Run, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26413423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC_Writes_Stuff/pseuds/CC_Writes_Stuff
Summary: In one universe, during Edelgard’s invasion on Garreg Mach, Byleth Eisner falls to the bottom of a cavern and into a five-year sleep and wakes up to reunite with Claude on the dawn of the Millennium Festival.In this one, Byleth is kidnapped by TWSITD in an endeavor to gain and use the power of Sothis, but manages to escape, and runs to Garreg Mach to look for her students.-Written For Whumptober Day 5: Where Do You Think You’re Going?
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Make It Hurt: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915390
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	safety (in your arms)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something that’s kinda been drifting around in my head, and no, I don’t quite know what TWSITD would want with Byleth other than the Sword of the Creator (which is never expanded on in the story in any route. Why did Solon try to seal up Byleth and what did he mean by he said he almost had the sword of the creator? They never expand on that, really. Or maybe they did and I just missed it)

_Faster. Faster. Faster._

Branches and leaves jabbed into Byleth’s skin as she ran, the leafy ground hard and cold under her feet. It was getting hard to breathe, vision blurring, but she didn’t stop running. She couldn’t, otherwise he would get her and she couldn’t go back there, she couldn’t. She’d rather die.

In the back of her mind, she could hear Sothis berating her, telling her to take a break before she collapsed out of exhaustion, but Byleth couldn’t. Not when she was so close to Garreg Mach, to Claude and her Deers. To people who can protect her.

She had to see if they were okay, after the battle, after Edelgard’s invasion. What had happened to them while she was gone? How long had it been? When Byleth had found human life, she didn’t bother asking for the date, just which way Garreg Mach was. She hoped it hasn’t been too long, but Byleth was drugged up in that place so much time had no meaning. It was just a blur, a haze of pain and eating and sleeping that Byleth couldn’t track. Even now, Byleth’s arms and legs ache from days after she escaped that place - what did Thales call it? Shambala?

It didn’t matter. What mattered was finding Garreg Mach, Hilda, Claude, hell, even Rhea. Someone who could fight, because she sure as hell couldn’t, not in this state.

The night sky was both a blessing and a curse. While it made it harder for TWSITD to find her, it made it harder for Byleth to see, adapted to the dark as she was.

Just a little longer.

The trees ahead of her broke, and grass turned to dirt. A road. Byleth looked to the side, and almost whooped with joy. In the distance, the towering stone walls and towers of Garreg Mach.

She took a moment to collect herself, her breathing. Then she ran.

Pebbles, now, stabbed into her foot, but Byleth barely felt them over the pain in the rest of her body and the sheer relief of seeing the monastery walls. The monastery was safe, or safe as a place Byleth has been in before, even after the invasion.

Torches were lit low as Byleth ran into the town at the foot of the hills Garreg Mach Monastery was on. The buildings looked rather worse for wear, broken down or badly patched up. It was silent, with no sign of soldiers, villagers. Some horses, but no human life.

A chill creeped up her spine. Byleth hoped nothing bad happened to them.

By the time she reached the gates, Byleth had to take a break, lest she passed out from exhaustion. Everything was spinning, her ears ringing, throat and lungs on fire. It had been a long time since she ran like that. Once she had caught her breath, though, she stood, unsteadily and slowly making way toward the gates.

They were broken. One of them was torn off the hinges, and the other was hanging by a thread. It creaked ominously in the wind. Vines covered the two gates, which Byleth never remembered seeing.

With bated breath and sword hand twitching, Byleth stepped into the marketplace. Her hand tightened around the flimsy dagger she’d stolen off a bandit after getting out, and she longed for the Sword of the Creator. But alas, she had tossed it down the ravine with what little consciousness she had left after Thales attacked her five years ago, to keep them from getting it. If she had the time, she would go down there and look for it, but Byleth didn’t, and couldn’t. For now, she’d have to rely on this dagger, her training, and the little magic energy she had left in store.

Like the village, the monastery was silent.

Too silent. It was... unsettling. Byleth was used to chatter, to the clang of metal on metal from the blacksmiths, to the meows and barking of the stray animals in the corners of it.

But now, it was empty. Silent. The stalls were broken, smashed along the ground, with items Byleth couldn’t recognize scattered about. The only cat she saw was a calico that scurried away once Byleth caught its eye.

Goosebumps pricked along her skin. Where was everyone?

“Claude!” Byleth yelled to the sky, running forward, up the stairs, her head on a swivel. It burned her lungs. “Hilda?! Raphael! Leonie! Anyone?!”

Only echoes answered her calls.

A stone formed in Byleth’s gut, heavy and hard and wide. There has to be someone here.

She started searching.

The pond was abandoned, and the greenhouse was empty. The rooms downstairs were pillaged, and when Byleth checked, so were the upper ones. Her own room was, too, not that she had many belongings in the first place. It was dusty, too - far too dusty. The sheets and rugs were moth-eaten.

Byleth checked everywhere she could think off - the training grounds were empty, as was the dining room and great hall and stables and Knight’s quarters. The graveyard was overgrown, looking like it hadn’t been taken care of in ages. Wilted flowers sat at her parent’s grave.

She dropped to her knees in front of it, resting her free hand on top of the gravestone. The stone digs into her knees, her hair - very long, too long - brushes the ground.

It’s shaking, Byleth numbly realizes. Her hand is shaking. When was the last time it shook like that?

“Father, mother... I’m sorry.” She’s not sure what she’s apologizing for. “I wish... I wish you were here. I wish the others were here. I hope they’re okay. They’re... they’re okay, right?”

She hopes they are. She hopes Claude and the rest of the Deer are safe, that they got away from Edelgard’s grasp, that they weren’t dead. They were like family to her, like the merca in her group, especially after her dad died. And Claude...

No, there was no time to figure out what her odd relationship with Claude was right now. She could do that after she found him. So, promising to come back as soon as she got the chance, Byleth stood up, shook out her hands, turned, walked up the steps-

-and promptly froze.

Because in front of there, there were about ten TWSITD soldiers. Silent, and still.

_Shit._

Her father’s words echoed in her mind.

_“Listen well, everyone. When you’re in a battle, things are unpredictable. Strategies can be foiled, and formations can be disrupted. Things won’t always go the way you want, and there’s always a chance you’ll be overwhelmed, or outnumbered. When that happens, there’s no shame in running.”_

And there was no way Byleth could fight all of them in the state that she was in. So, heeding her father’s advice, she turned on her heel and ran back to the grand hall.

Froze again. She was surrounded - soldiers behind her, and in the grand hall, and in the hall that connected the graveyard to the Office’s academy.

_Double shit._

Tensing, Byleth raised the dagger. Her eyes scanned the soldiers as she slowly walked back towards the bridge connecting the cathedral to the rest of the monastery, looking for familiar white hair.

Byleth didn’t see it. Thank god.

The air was tense, silent, and thick as molasses. The air she felt before the battle of the Eagle and Lion, and the air she felt as she watched Edelgard’s army march towards Garreg Mach. It was suffocating, creeping into Byleth’s lungs without her permission, and thick enough to slice with a sword. Byleth was acutely aware of the rustle of the leaves, the blood pumping in her ears to the rhythm of a clock. Somewhere, in the horizon and out of sight, Death was waiting for the answer to an unspoken question. All of them were.

_How many people will die here tonight?_

Byleth would not let it be her, and attacked.

-

It was hard to believe it had been five years.

Five years since the battle ravaged the town. Five years since he crossed swords with his former classmates. Five years of war.

Five years since he’d last seen Teach.

Claude sighed and ran a hand down Yelah’s scales, ignoring the pang in his heart at the thought of his teacher. Five years of sending out search parties and keeping an ear to the ground for any sign of his beloved teacher.

And yet, silence. Five years of silence, of nothing. No stories of a mercenary or warrior who took her enemies down with a single swipe in either Fódlan or Almyra, no sightings of a woman with mint-green hair, no sign of the former professor at his door or any of the other Deer’s. It was like she vanished into thin air.

Claude held out hope, of course - she was Byleth Eisner, daughter of the Jeralt the Blade Breaker, Professor to the Golden Deer house, who cut herself out of a literal void to protect her students - there was no way she could die that easily. But as time passed, the spark of hope began to dwindle.

Now, Claude had only two hopes - that she would either return here, to Garreg Mach, for the Millennium Festival, or that she was being held captive somewhere in the Empire. The third option was one Claude refused to think about, even if the other Deer were starting to accept it.

But Claude couldn’t. Not yet.

Even after five years of abandonment, the walls of Garreg Mach still stood strong, other than a section in the front where it had collapsed from Edelgard’s attack. Tattered flags flapped lazily in the night wind.

Angling Yelah’s wings, Claude descended in front of the large gates that lead into the monastery. Scanning to make sure there was no one around, Claude hopped off the wyvern’s back, who whined, turning her head to headbutt Claude. He chuckled.

“Stay here, girl, I’ll be right back, okay?” He said, running a hand down her neck again. “You’ll come get me if something happens, right?”

A happy growl was what Claude got in response. He smiled, before stepping back and grabbing the Sword of the Creator off the side. It flashed red when Claude touched it, before calming down. He had found it five years ago when searching for Teach, and found it washed ashore on the bank of the river that ran by the village and monastery. He hadn’t found Teach, so Claude hoped that she had just dropped it during the fight. For the most part, he tried to avoid touching it after what happened to Miklan, especially considering the power of the Crest of Flames, but it didn’t feel right to come back to Garreg Mach without it. If Teach was there, Claude wanted to be the one to give it to her.

Strapping the sword belt to his waist, Claude sheathed the sword, before turning and making his way through the gates. Suppressed the shiver that ran down his spine at the unnatural silence and stillness. Between the hustle and bustle of Almyra’s capital and the chatter of Garreg Mach, filled with people, seeing it so empty was unnerving.

Out of habit, he drew out Failnaught and an arrow. It never hurt to be prepared.

“Teach?” Claude called out as he went up the steps leading out of the marketplace, looking around. “Is anyone here?”

Silence. Claude gulped.

 _It’s still dark out. The day hasn’t even started yet,_ Claude, he told himself, shaking his head. _They’ll - she’ll - be here. She has to be. Just give it time._

His footsteps echoed too loudly against the cobblestone as he walked, keeping a sign out for any of his former classmates or his teacher. Any sign of life, really.

Claude checked the dorms first, hoping that if Byleth was hiding out there, in her dorms or maybe Claude’s or someone. But they were empty other than cobwebs and dust. So was the training rooms and greenhouse and dining hall. He was headed to the graveyard when he saw it - a body.

For a moment, he panicked, thinking it was someone he knew - _it was Teach, she was dead and he couldn’t do anything about it_ \- but another glance disproved that. It was a male, with short hair that Claude couldn’t quite make out in the dark, with clothing that looked just a little too familiar, but he couldn’t place where. Pale, deathly so.

Kneeling down next to the body, Claude pressed a hand to the neck. No pulse, but still warm. Recently dead, then,

Standing up, Claude drew and nocked an arrow, looking around.

“Hello? Anyone out there?” He called out, his words bouncing off the stone walls. More silence. Frowning, Claude shook off the prickle of dread that creeped down his spine and stepped over it, into the corridor that connected the Officer’s Academy and Graveyard.

More bodies.

There was a trail of them, leading from here out onto the bridge, and the faint smell of burnt flesh tainted the air.

Burnt flesh and bodies, like fire magic. Claude’s heart skipped a beat.

_Teach._

Claude followed the trail, down the bridge. There were more bodies, some on the bridge and some hanging halfway off. Some looked like they had been stabbed, and some burnt, all dead. There were scorch marks in the ground. The winter air snapped at him as he walked, a contrast to the mildly warm winters in Almyra.

“Teach?” Claude tried again once he reached the cathedral, looming above him, doors open. It didn’t look good - many of the pews were broken or smashed, windows shattered, and there was a large hole in the ceiling. Whether that came from Edelgard or the giant dragon-like creature Claude saw that day, he didn’t know.

But like last time, there was no answer other than his own voice. Claude stepped back, veering to the side, and went left, down the steps on the side of the building, where the bodies lead. The gate to the Holy Tomb was locked tight, and Claude allowed himself a moment to wonder how it opened before shaking that thought off.

Someone - _Teach,_ his mind whispered - was here.

He glanced to the right, and an off-center tower caught his eye. The goddess tower. 

The promise.

Like a moth to a flame, Claude walked over there, eyes glued to the place where he made a promise and shared part of his dream with Byleth. The night he felt something that didn’t quite feel divine or miraculous, but was stunning nonetheless.

There were no bodies on this bridge. But there was blood - a blood trail. Something bitter formed in Claude’s mouth, and he swallowed it down as he pushed the door to the tower open. It creaked loud, the sound grating against his ears.

_Click. Click._

_“Is anyone there?”_

A voice asks. It bounces off stone, off the stone, as the figure reaches towards a dagger at their belt. Moonlight dances on the ground, on silver metal and shining jewels.

_Click. Click._

The figure waits with bated breath, silent and invisible. There’s already a body with a dagger-sized hole in it, and blood seeping into fabric and shoes. The voice walks forward, unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows.

_Click. Click._

A hunter waits for a rabbit to walk into a snare, hands wrapped around a hilt, and ready for the kill.

_Click._

_Creak._

For a moment, there’s nothing.

The rabbit takes the bait, and walks into the snare.

Green. The color of the forest trees, stretching upwards towards the sky. The color of safety and harm in equal measures, the color of eyes watching and observing with envy.

Gold. The color of jewelry and gold riches representing wealth, power, and golden fabrics meant to unify a bond between friends, family. The gold of a dagger held to the neck.

Red. The color of a bleeding sunrise over the mountains separating two countries and what lays beyond it, of an empress’ armor as she marches across a battlefield, of a dead body that was supposed to be someone else.

A sharp line burns across Claude’s cheek, and he nocks an arrow, whirling in the direction it came from, the arrow pointed towards its source. Morning sun breaks through a large window.

Green. Soft colors against softer skin, each shade holding a different meaning, a different mystery to be unsolved, of trees planted to sprout new ideas and friendships.

Gold. Morning sun breaking through a window on a new dawn, and a golden bangle given to signify friendship.

Red. Dried blood on shaky hands, pooling around feet in nightmares. Bright and unnatural on pale skin that shouldn’t be there. The red of a glowing sword said to cut a mountain in half, and missing a blood-red stone to go with.

“Teach?”

She looks almost exactly the same, and yet different. Her hair is longer, now, reaching her knees, and dirty. The clothes she’s wearing aren’t the armor she had on before, but simple and ragged tunic and pants, with shoes falling apart. One hand is outstretched, like she was throwing something.

Green eyes meet green. Claude’s heart skips a beat, stomach doing backflips.

“Claude?”

Byleth wavers, voice quiet, husky, like she hasn’t used it in ages. Dawn light shines on her hair, making it look like it’s glowing, just a bit.

Failnaught clatters to the ground with the arrow as Claude runs towards her, pulling his Professor into a hug. She’s cold and thin and smells like dirt and copper, but she’s there, alive, in his arms, and he doesn’t want to let go.

“You’re alive... thank the Gods.”

**Author's Note:**

> No I don’t know what that thing with the colors at the end is.
> 
> [I Have a Tumblr!](https://ccwritesstuff.tumblr.com/)


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